


Stiles and the Seven Wolves

by SylvieW



Series: Where Dreams Come True [1]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Ableist Language, Alternate Universe - Historical, Cannibalism, Canonical Character Death, Fluff, Happily Ever After, M/M, Snow White AU, Snow White retelling, crackish, fairytale retelling, werewolves are known
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-26
Updated: 2016-01-26
Packaged: 2018-05-16 10:10:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,421
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5824549
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SylvieW/pseuds/SylvieW
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles is Snow White, Kate is the Evil Queen, and when Chris the Huntsman doesn't kill him, he runs off to live with seven werewolves.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Stiles and the Seven Wolves

**Author's Note:**

> If some of those tags concern you, I’ve explained them a bit in the end notes.
> 
> Thank you to my beta [ChloeWeird](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChloeWeird/works?fandom_id=258526) for pushing me to be a better writer.

Claudia sat in the snowy garden with her needlepoint. It was growing colder and she knew she’d have to go inside soon before her hands grew too numb to work, but with her husband so recently having left on kingly business, her rooms felt empty and stifling. 

True to her prediction, on the next stitch, the needle slipped and pricked her finger. Blood welled and rather than smear it onto the fabric she held out her hand and watched the crimson droplets bleed into the white snow at her side. As it spread, an old wives tale came to her mind, and she formed a wish. She lacked the words to voice it, but her head was filled with clattering feet and laughter and enough noise to stave off her loneliness. She placed her unwounded hand to her stomach and sat a moment longer before gathering her things and going inside.

***

“Now, just push the needle through again and pull the thread along,” Claudia said, watching her son’s little fingers work the needle through the sock. His little tongue stuck out of the corner of his mouth as he bent his head in concentration. He wiggled in her lap, hardly still for a moment as he painstakingly stitched up the hole. Most would say it wasn’t a prince’s place to be darning socks, but she knew her son, and Stiles was happier with his mind and fingers occupied. Today, it was socks, tomorrow, it might be swords. So long as he was happy, she didn’t really mind what he did to pass the time.

They had just begun to tie off the thread when the herald began. Stiles jumped down from her lap and raced out of the room with a shout. “They’re back, Papa’s back!” Claudia finished the knot herself so Stiles’ work wouldn’t come undone, before following her son downstairs to greet her husband. After a full month away, she would rush too, but she knew, as the king, John would have many people to greet before she could really have his attention. Besides, she was tired. Everyone thought Stiles took too much of her energy, but she disagreed. He made her happy and that made it easier to push the fatigue away.

She reached the front hall and saw her young son being swept up in her husband’s arms, already regaling him with the events of the last month, heedless of the courtiers surrounding them, anxious to greet their king. John did his best to listen to Stiles while acknowledging those around him. Her laughter bubbled out and John looked up at the sound. He smiled in return and whispered in Stiles’ ear. He handed him a small box and put him on the ground. 

Stiles raced toward her, (he raced everywhere, really) and handed her the box. She opened it to reveal a delicate pale blue and silver teardrop pendant on a sturdy chain. The elegance of the drop suited her taste perfectly, while the strong chain made it so she would actually be able to wear it despite her clumsiness. John had always known her so well. Stiles gasped with delight and she let him run his little fingers over it. She held it it to the light for him to see before slipping it over her head. Stiles waited with her until they could have her husband to themselves, which was really all she’d ever hoped for.

***

The King set down his third glass of ale onto the side table at his elbow, while staring into the fire beside him. He tried not to spend too much time in his study, wallowing in grief, but today, the heartache had caught up with him. 

It had been over a year since Claudia had passed away and John still felt her absence like a wound on his soul. Now that he was no longer in official mourning, many of his advisors thought he should be looking for a new wife.

John was reluctant to even think of another woman at his side, where Claudia once had been but the validity of his advisors’ points was growing by the day. With John gone so frequently, it would be better for the kingdom to have a queen’s presence in the castle. Dissent and unease were growing in the south, and a marriage could help form ties that would strengthen the kingdom before the churning political seas became an outright storm.

And, of course, there was Stiles. 

Stiles, at fourteen, was too old to have his antics dismissed as youthful exuberance and too young to take on real responsibilities for the kingdom.

Stiles had been spending time after his lessons with washerwomen and kitchen staff, instead of the other courtier’s children. He had long been enamored with Lord Martin’s daughter, but rarely spent time--outside of their lessons--in her presence.

Just that afternoon, when the King called Stiles to greet the Argents upon their arrival, Stiles had presented himself covered in flour. When John had asked him why, Stiles shrugged and said they’d been making pie. As if there was no other reason needed.

He could see the judgement in the eyes of the Argent family and his own advisors. He pined for Claudia’s easy charm, knowing she would have said just the right thing to ease the tension. She’d have turned things around until it would have been shocking _not_ to see the Crown Prince covered in flour.

The Argents were a complication. They could just as easily be his downfall as his salvation, depending on whether he could make them allies. He knew their patriarch, Gerard, felt the best course of action was a marriage agreement. His daughter Kate was younger than John, but old enough to still be considered a suitable bride.

He dreaded the prospect, but everyone was certain that the best thing for Stiles was a strong motherly figure to replace the one he’d lost. He wanted no part in it himself, but John would do anything if it would help his boy.

***

“Mirror, Mirror on the wall, who is the fairest of them all?”

Deaton turned his focus to Kate, as she asked the same question for what must surely have been the thousandth time since her curse had begun. In his utter boredom, it was usually easy enough to complete the spell and let the placid assurance roll off his tongue, but today the spell went a little differently.

After over four years, Deaton was well familiar with the inhabitants of King John’s castle, and most definitely the King himself. He was intrigued to see that, rather than an image of Kate’s beautiful but malicious grin, the vision focused on Prince Stiles sitting in his father’s chamber. 

“I know that it’s just a simple thing, but, now that you’ve come of age, I wanted you to have this.” The King handed his son a small, plain, wooden box.

Stiles opened it with careful excitement, releasing a small gasp as he removed its contents. From his long fingers dangled a simple silver and blue pendant. “Mother’s necklace.” He rose to embrace his father, giving heartfelt thanks for the simple gift. 

_Ah_ , thought Deaton, _I see now_. “My Queen, you are fair of face, but the beauty of the prince's heart has far surpassed you.”

Deaton didn’t see Kate’s face turn murderous, nor did he watch as she tore her rooms apart in a fit of rage. He drifted in the vast nothing of his magic prison, no longer a flesh and blood man, and far from the powerful druid he once was. Just a shadow in a mirror called on for little more than a parlour trick, by a power hungry queen. 

***

Chris led the prince out of the large castle gates and down the path toward the nearby woods, nodding to familiar soldiers and townspeople as they passed. He barely listened as the prince waxed poetic about the virtues of Lady Lydia, focusing instead on the conversation he’d had the night before with his younger sister. 

“The kingdom is falling apart, Chris,” Kate had said, her eyes glistening. “We can’t afford the danger of a spoiled boy. He’s reckless, and foolish, a danger to us all. It’s like a rabid dog, better to put it down now than risk it infecting someone else.” 

They’d argued for hours, Kate certain that the only solution was the prince’s death. Chris believed in the greater good. He wanted what was best for the people. If Kate was convinced that the best option was to be rid of this boy, so be it. His hands were far from clean.

He carried with him his usual bow, under the guise that he was taking the young man hunting. He had his knife at his side and in the bag he usually used to bring home game he had the ornate box, Kate had given him.

“If it must be done, surely there’s an easier way to dispose of the boy,” Chris had said. He could see now the necessity for the death, but the thought of cutting out the boy’s heart left his own chest cold.

“No!” Kate hissed. “I’ll have his heart. It will have plenty of uses.”

Chris wanted to press, but he knew when Kate got that slick smile, she was thinking of magic, and he wanted no part in that.

He led the prince through the woods, deep into the underbrush until they reached the clearing he had in mind. It was edged in crimson flowers and the prince ran forward to look at them more closely. As the prince praised the flowers with enthusiasm not fitting the event Chris had planned, Chris pulled the rope from his belt and tied it with a simple knot. In a quick movement he lunged for the young man and took him by surprise, looping the rope over his wrists and securing it to a sturdy low hanging branch.

“What the hell are you doing?” The prince shouted. His eyes widened and he began struggling in earnest when Chris reached for his knife and pulled it from its sheath.

“I know you won’t understand, but the Queen is certain that this is for the best.” Chris said, raising the knife high.

Chris looked down at the young prince’s wide, brown eyes and suddenly all he could see was his own daughter. Ludicrous really, as they looked nothing alike. Nevertheless, he found himself caught, knife raised, thoughts of his little girl racing through his head. The doubt that had lingered in the back of his mind blossomed and sullied his resolve. 

“Please,” the boy whispered. He didn’t beg or bargain like a spineless fool. Just one small word. “Please.”

Chris finally moved in a flurry, but instead of plunging the knife into the prince’s chest, he used it to cut the ropes he’d just tied. “Run,” he said. “Run far, don’t turn back. Run!” The prince didn’t question him, he simply scrambled back and took off into the woods. He didn’t look back and Chris listened until the sound of his footsteps faded. He stood there for what felt like hours, stock still and silent. He broke from his trance at the sight of a deer moving through the nearby trees. Chris looked down at the box at his feet and thought, _well, I am a hunter after all._

*** 

Stiles raced through the trees, terror nipping at his heels. His lungs and thighs burned, and he could feel the wayward branches ripping at his clothes as he pushed past them. The sky had darkened overhead, making the trees loom and the shadows jump in the light of the full moon. Where daylight might find grassy knolls and budding oaks, fear and darkness left treacherous falls and menacing figures. He had no idea how long or how far he had run but he wouldn’t let himself stop even now.

His mind raced along with him, a thousand thoughts pushing for attention. Why did the queen want him dead? He knew she was a heartless bitch and there were no fond feelings between them, but that was a far cry from his step-mother ordering his murder. Where would he go now? He didn’t know the woods so far from his home, and even if he did, with their country in such political unrest, he was unsure of his welcome, should he find a more populated area. What would his father think? Would they tell him he was dead or that he had simply run off? He wasn’t sure what would be worse, the grief of the former or the betrayal of the latter.

The sound of a howl, closer than expected, sent him skidding to the ground, heart pounding in his ears. He scrambled to his feet as quickly as he could, and changed course for the opposite direction from where he thought the howls were coming from.

Stiles stumbled again soon after, this time into a large clearing. He pulled himself forward, biting back a cry as pain shot through his knees and hands from the impact. Exhaustion was beginning to win out and now that he’d lost momentum he was unsure he could find it within himself to keep pushing forward.

He looked up to appraise his surroundings and was shocked to see a large structure in the middle of the clearing. It was too dark to make out clear details, but from what the moon illuminated, the structure looked rundown and abandoned. Stiles nearly sobbed in relief at the prospect of an empty place where he could rest. He pushed himself up, gathering the last of his strength to get inside. He reached a heavy door and leaned his whole body against it, fumbling for the latch until it finally creaked open. Stiles barely took in more than the hole in the ceiling, before he spotted an old, thin pallet on the floor. He staggered toward it, dropping down and curling into himself, practically asleep before his head hit the pallet.

***

Kate’s private rooms were deep below the castle. She’d claimed other grandly appointed areas of the castle itself, of course, areas to entertain publicly and privately as she saw fit. But her real rooms were hidden away in a long forgotten area that no one would come across. Only herself and her mirror and the fool who worked her spells. 

She paced in the center of the workroom, her long, lavish cloak sweeping behind her with every impatient step. “What’s taking so long?”

“Only the heart now,” Harris said. He opened the small, gilded chest and removed the organ. Kate laughed at the thought of the weak boy it had belonged to. How easily she had gotten rid of him and how wonderful it was that the very thing that had threatened her reign would act as the main ingredient to securing it. The so-called “beauty” of this heart would fuel the spell to ensure that she would always possess the fairest face in the kingdom, and by extension, control over all its inhabitants. Her father had taught her, beauty is currency, and only the fairest lead. _She_ knew what was best for the kingdom, not some snot-nosed brat with more heart than brains.

Harris lowered the heart into his bubbling mixture, infusing it with the potion before setting it on a gold plate and bringing it to the table set in the corner. Kate dismissed Harris and sat down, then wasted no time in consuming every morsel. When she was finished wiping the blood from her mouth, she went into the bedroom and awoke her mirror.

“Mirror, Mirror on the wall, who is the fairest of them all?”

Deaton’s likeness shimmered on to the mirror's surface, obscuring Kate’s face.

“My queen, you are the fairest here, but the Prince in the woods is fairer still than you.”

Kate blanched. “No! This can’t be so, the prince is dead! I ate his fair heart!”

“The kingdom’s prince lives, and you have been fooled.”

The room was torn apart once more, as Kate raged.

***

Stiles came awake slowly, sunlight beating at his eyelids and voices filtering into his ears. It took him a moment to wake up enough to make out what they were saying.

“Please, Derek.”

“No.”

“But look how innocent he looks! Can’t we please keep him?”

“He’s not a kitten, Scott. You can’t just keep him here because you feel like it.”

“Does that mean you would let me keep a kitten if I found one?”

“Absolutely not.”

“I want to keep the kitten boy!” a third voice added.

“Erica, he’s not a kitten and we are not keeping him.”

It took Stiles a moment to remember the previous day, at which point it occurred to him that these people could be referring to him, which had the potential to be really, really bad. His eyes flew open, and the sun briefly blinded him as he flailed into a sitting position.

When his vision cleared, he was shocked to see not only the three he’d heard, but seven people, all staring at him.

“He’s awake!” said a boy that looked to be Stiles’ age, with floppy brown hair and a slightly crooked jaw. His voice was familiar, so Stiles guessed him to be Scott. 

“We can see that,” said a dark haired girl, whose voice Stiles didn’t recognize. He took that to mean that Erica must be the blonde who was currently edging toward him while…sniffing? A dark skinned boy pulled her back to stand beside him before she got too close. 

“Hello! I’m Scott.” Hooray for Stiles. “Who are you?”

Stiles stared at him a moment. If Scott didn’t recognize him, there was a chance that he could get out of here in one piece. “Stiles,” he replied, knowing most people would only be familiar with his atrocious given name, rather than the name he really used.

“But who _are_ you?” Asked a man slightly older than Stiles with a menacing scowl. He was pretty sure this was the third voice, Derek, who didn’t want him to stay.

There was a snicker in the corner, and everyone turned to a man whose age Stiles wasn’t sure of, though he was definitely older than the others. He was leaning into the corner, inspecting a fingernail. He looked up, as if just noticing the attention paid to him and said, derisively, “you don’t know?”

“Peter,” Derek said, so low that he almost growled.

Peter raised his hands in mock surrender and said, “Really, Derek, it’s hardly my fault you don’t recognize him. I would have thought you’d keep a close eye on the crown prince.” Stiles bristled as Peter continued, “Especially since his father’s marriage to our dear old friend, Kate.”

“Argent.” Derek spat out the word like a curse, whipping his gaze toward Stiles with red glowing eyes. The other gazes in the room flashed yellow in response, unease rippling through the group.

“No!” Stiles said vehemently, his own temper flaring. “I’m of the Stilinski house, not an Argent.”

“But you're allied with them,” Derek insisted. His shoulders were tensed and he was slowly stalking forward. His eyes had stopped glowing, but he now sported sharp claws that twitched by his sides. Stiles pushed himself as close to the wall as he could, but he was thoroughly surrounded.

Stiles had never met a werewolf before, though he’d heard a lot of things about them. Mostly from Kate. She frequently ranted about how werewolves were vicious creatures. She claimed they were savage and brutish with no more intelligence than a dog, and would kill an innocent, defenceless human without a second thought. However, she was also a lying bitch.

Between that and the copious amounts of reading Stiles had done, he believed Derek was the Alpha and the rest of the people in the room were his pack. Based on the flashing eyes, none of them were human, even though he’d heard that packs could have human members. 

Stiles considered his situation. So far, despite their current threatening attitude, none of the werewolves had hurt him yet. They easily could have done so while he slept, but instead, they had asked to keep him. Kate had made her hatred of werewolves clear throughout the kingdom, and they were now facing more prejudice than ever. Perhaps, Stiles would find a haven by means of a common enemy.

He raised his eyes to meet Derek’s. “She’s technically my step-mother, but considering that she ordered me killed yesterday, I’d hardly call her an ally.”

The werewolves reacted once more, with various levels of outrage and disbelief. 

“Shut up,” Derek ground out, silencing the pack once more. His gaze never left Stiles’.

“What happened?” asked Scott, his voice radiating concern and confusion.

Stiles told them what had happened with Chris in the woods. The hair on the back of his neck rose at the memory of the knife glinting in Chris’ hand. 

“How did you get away?” Scott prompted, gently.

“I didn’t. He let me go. I don’t know why, but he cut the rope and told me to run and not come back. I didn’t want him to change his mind, so I didn’t argue. I started running and I didn’t stop until I got here. I don’t really know where _here_ even is.”

Another ripple of murmured unease went through the seven wolves .“Why did you break into our house?” Derek asked. 

“I was tired and scared, then I heard howling. And honestly? In the dark, I thought it was abandoned,” Stiles said. A couple of the werewolves snickered. While he was pleased he may have gained some favour from them, Derek still looked downright murderous.

“Pardon me if our home isn’t up to your standards. We’re still trying to rebuild it since Kate set it on fire with my pack inside.” Derek said. 

Stiles blanched. “Did they….”

“Cora, Peter and I are the only ones left. It’s taken us this long to get back on our feet.” 

“Now that we have a pack, we can focus on the house.” Scott explained.

Stiles felt even more certain that this was the place where he would be safest. Perhaps, he could use what skills he had in exchange for protection. Many would dismiss cooking and tending house as useless skills, but they were what he had, so he would use them as best he could. “I could help.” Stiles said.

“Yeah!” Scott said. A couple of the other wolves, Erica included, made noises of agreement, while the others scoffed and looked wary. 

“Why?” Derek said.

Stile swallowed as a wave of panic washed over him. “I don’t know where else I could go. If I go into a village, I won’t know who’s loyal to Kate and who will help me. If I stay in the woods, I’m not sure I can survive.” 

Derek crossed sturdy arms over his well-muscled chest. Under different circumstances, Stiles would sincerely appreciate the display. “We don’t have the time or resources to cater to a spoiled prince.”

Stiles gave an outraged gasp. “I’m not completely useless. I just don’t think I could survive in the wilderness. I wouldn’t just sit idly and bemoan my fate, while the rest of you work. I may not be strong like you but I can cook, and clean and mend just about anything.” Scott still looked sympathetic, but none of the others would meet his eye, so he looked back to Derek. “Whatever you want, I’ll find a way to do it. Please, don’t send me back out there.”

Derek stared at him for a long moment before turning toward his pack. “Scott, find him some clothes that aren’t ripped apart. Erica, Isaac, Cora, Boyd, do a patrol to make sure no one followed him here. Peter, come with me.” With that, he turned on his heel and walked out the door. The rest of the pack followed after him, leaving Stiles with Scott beaming down at him.

“Excellent!” Scott said, then he offered a hand to help Stiles up off the mattress.

“So, does that mean I can stay?” Stiles asked. He stretched out his sore muscles as he followed Scott out the door and into the clearing. 

“I think so,” Scott said with a small frown. “I guess he didn’t really say, but if you couldn’t, he probably would have just chased you out of the territory.”

“I see.”He hoped Derek had decided to shelter him. He would try get to work as soon as possible so that he could dissuade any of Derek’s lingering doubts. Hopefully, after Derek saw that he really would work hard, he would be less resentful of Stiles’ presence, and more clear in his intentions.

Scott led him around the side of the house to what appeared to be the front entrance. The large wooden door was in significantly better condition than the one Stiles had entered through, the night before. “We started rebuilding the most used areas first. We’re working our way toward the back. Unfortunately, that means that we still have to share rooms. You could room with me and Isaac, if you want.”

Stiles smiled at Scott’s friendly disposition. “Sure, if Isaac doesn’t mind.”

“I’ll talk to him about it. Our room is this way. You can have some of my clothes. Your old ones are pretty torn up. Maybe we can use them for rags or something.” Scott led him further into the house, down a hallway with wide arched doorways leading off of it. A quick glance to the right revealed the kitchen, and the left looked to be a common area, if the collection of chairs were anything to go by.

He picked up his pace to catch up to Scott, who was already heading farther down the hallway. “If you have a needle and thread around somewhere I could mend them. They still have a lot of wear in them.” He didn’t want Derek to have to waste too many resources on him so soon.

Scott stopped outside a closed door. “Really? You can actually mend them?” 

“Wouldn’t be the first time.” Stiles lifted the edge of his tunic to show a neat row of stitches. “I’m not exactly known for my grace and poise. If I had to get new clothes every time they ripped, I’d bankrupt the kingdom in a year.”

Scott chuckled as he opened the door and stepped into the room. It was a cozy space, with two cots against either wall. Scott went straight to a large chest placed under the window. He took the odds and ends scattered across its top and placed them on the floor next to him before opening it and rummaging through the contents. “Here we go.” He pulled a few items out and handed them to Stiles. “I haven’t worn these since I was turned. They should fit you okay.”

Stiles took the garments, “You were turned?” Stiles asked as he tugged off his clothes.

“We all were. Except Derek, Cora and Peter, of course. I had a breathing ailment, and before I met Derek, I couldn’t do anything too strenuous, so I was much thinner. Taking the bite meant I was cured.” Scott replaced the things on top of the chest while he waited for Stiles to pull on the outfit.

“Were the others sick as well?” Scott’s old shirt seemed to fit well enough, if a bit loosely. The pants were a few inches too short, but by no means unmanageably so.

“Erica was. She had fits. She probably would have died without the bite. Isaac’s father was...not a good person. Derek offered him the bite to keep him safe. Boyd asked Derek for the bite, but we’re not really sure why. He doesn’t talk much.” Scott looked considering for a moment before he shook himself and smiled brightly again. “Anyway, we’re all pack now. Pack is like family.”

Stiles nodded. “That sounds nice.”

Scott jumped up from the floor. “So, can you really cook, too?”

“Can I ever,” Stiles said. If nothing else, he was sure of that.

“Great!” Scott started leading Stiles back into the kitchen. “We usually take turns. Some of us are okay at it, but others are really bad. I won’t tell you who, because they get touchy about it.”

Stiles laughed and they talked about some of the things that Scott liked to eat and Stiles liked to make. Stiles began exploring the space to see what he had to work with. The kitchen was spacious and well equipped, but poorly cared for. Dishes piled up in the sink, food was left out and random belongings littered the space, including clothes and books. Was that a sock hanging from window?

Scott hefted himself up to sit on the wide window sill. “Sorry about the mess. Yesterday was the full moon, that always makes us really hungry.”

“Do you think everyone would be hungry now? I could start on a late breakfast.”

Scott nodded with gusto, and Stiles switched from exploring to collecting ingredients for a quick but filling breakfast, deciding on oatmeal. “We had some bread earlier, but we got distracted when we realized someone else was in the house.”

“Sorry about that,” Stiles said, with a grimace. “I really did think it was abandoned and I panicked when I heard… Oh! Does your pack howl?” 

Scott nodded. “Especially on a moon run.”

Stiles laughed. “I heard _you_ then! I thought it was wolves and I was worried I’d be attacked. Leave it to me to think I hear predators, then run right into their house.” 

Scott tilted his head to the side, and gave Stiles a considering look. “You don’t think we’re predators now?”

Stiles stopped his preparations and thought for a moment. “No,” he decided. “My mother always said werewolves were protectors. I’m sure you hunt, but...If you’d wanted to hurt me, you could have a dozen times over by now.” 

Scott gave another happy puppy smile. “Protectors. I like that.”

Stiles put together the hearty oatmeal with dried fruit and milk while he and Scott chatted away. He found he liked Scott, which was somewhat of a relief. He didn’t always take to people and it would be a shame if they didn’t get along after Scott had offered to let him stay in his home.

“This should be ready now.” Stiles said. “Is the pack nearby?”

“Yeah, plug your ears a second.” Scott tilted his head back and led out a joyful howl. Stiles could hear a few answering howls in the distance.

“Was that really necessary?” Derek said. Stiles spun around to see him glowering in the doorway.

“I don’t know, but it was amazing,” Stiles said.

Scott laughed as Derek rolled his eyes. “The others will be along soon.” Stiles nodded and began dishing out food. He handed the first bowl to Scott, who promptly gave it to Derek, rather than taking it for himself. Derek took it to the table and sat in the chair the head of the table. As Stiles finished laying out the bowls, the rest of the pack made their way inside.

When everyone was seated and digging in, Stiles took the remaining seat at the end of the table across from Derek. 

“I don’t like oatmeal,” someone muttered. Stiles looked up from his breakfast to see the boy with the curls glaring down at his bowl. 

“Isaac, this doesn’t taste like the usual oatmeal. Stiles is a way better cook then we are. There isn’t a single lump.” Scott said. He smiled again as he looked between Stiles and Isaac. 

Isaac eyed Stiles, then crumbled under Scott’s earnest expression. He picked up his spoon and scooped up a small bite. He reluctantly put it in his mouth. “Huh,” he said, mouth full. “‘S okay.”

“Manners,” Derek said, not looking up from his own bowl.

“Yeah, Isaac,” Erica said with a sly grin. “You’d think you’ve been raised by wolves.”

The table erupted into laughter. Stiles’ nervousness dissipated as Isaac stuck out an oatmeal-covered tongue at Erica. The banter carried around the table as everyone continued to eat, getting seconds where needed and in some cases thirds, (Boyd could pack it away.)

The conversation came to an abrupt halt again when Scott reiterated his offer to have Stiles sleep in the room he shared with Isaac.

“Scott, we only have two beds.” Isaac pointed out, obviously distressed at the prospect.

“It’s fine,” Stiles interjected. He didn’t want to be the cause of a pack member’s upset. “I’ll just go back to where I slept last night.”

“You mean the room with part of a ceiling missing and a pile of rags on the floor?” Cora asked with a raised eyebrow.

“He could stay with me,” Peter suggested.

A resounding _no_ came from every other werewolf at the table.

“You wound me.” Peter laid a hand on his chest and turned to Stiles. “Here I so graciously offer my hospitality and no one ever wants to stay with me.” The mirth twinkling in his eye belied his exaggerated outrage.

Stiles should probably have found Peter intimidating, but he had done almost all his schooling with Lady Lydia. While beautiful, she was the very incarnation of terrifying wit. “Can’t imagine why,” Stiles replied with a quirk of his lip, succeeding in sparking a theatrical gasp from Peter, a few chuckles from Scott and Boyd and a downright cackle from Erica.

“I’ll take care of his sleeping arrangements. For now, we’ve wasted enough time. Off to work.” Derek said. The wolves brought their bowls over to the sink and left the kitchen, leaving Stiles on his own. He decided there was no time like the present and set to work cleaning up.

***

Stiles spent the day alternating between cooking and putting the kitchen to rights. He put together rolls with cured meat in case the wolves needed to travel while they ate. Sure enough, they came in waves around midday, grabbing the food and returning to the area of the house they were working in. 

He only stopped working to eat his own meager lunch. He wanted to keep busy, not only to prove his worth, but to keep his mind off the events of the previous day. 

He made a hearty stew and bread for dinner and was pleased to see the pack eat all together again for evening meals. He and Scott continued to build their friendship, chatting throughout the meal. Isaac was still standoffish, but Erica and Cora seemed happy enough to get to know him, asking for the latest gossip and fashions within the castle, leading Stiles to rave about Lydia and her glorious reign of popularity. Even Peter slid in a sly comment where he saw fit. Derek and Boyd were quiet for the most part. Stiles didn’t know them well enough to know if that was usual for them, but the rest of the pack appeared unconcerned by their taciturn demeanour.

After the meal, Scott kept Stiles company while he took care of the dishes. Cora, Erica and Boyd went into the common area and Isaac, after seeing Scott’s preoccupation, slunk after them. Peter and Derek both disappeared.

After they finished in the kitchen for the night, he and Scott joined the others in the living room. Scott explained that the pack had made all the furniture. Stiles asked them all about the process of making the chairs. As it grew later, the werewolves excused themselves and headed off to bed. 

Scott stayed with Stiles, with Isaac hovering by the door, until Derek came in. “Come with me,” he said to Stiles. He turned to leave and casually brushed a hand over Isaac's neck before he walked back down the hallway without waiting to see if Stiles obeyed. 

Stiles bid a hasty good night to Scott and Isaac and hurried after Derek. They walked past Scott and Isaac’s room, deeper into the house, reaching the end of the hallway and turning to the left. The farther they got, the more signs that the wolves had been working appeared. Tools had been left next to exposed beams and unfinished walls lined their path. At the end of the hallway, Derek opened a door and entered a room, leaving the door open for Stiles behind him. 

The room was larger than Scott and Isaac’s had been, with one large bed pushed to the wall instead of two cots. On the opposite side lay a pallet with a pillow and blankets. Derek walked to the bed and picked something up off of it. He turned and handed it to Stiles. “You can change in there,” he said, gesturing to a door on the wall opposite the the bed. Stiles accepted the bundle and hurried to the door to oblige. He found that the door led to a small washing room. He made use of the facilities and stripped off his borrowed clothing. He shook out the bundle, and determined it to be a long night shirt. He quickly put it on and reentered the bedroom, carrying the discarded clothing with him. 

The room had been darkened, so only one lamp was left glowing on the bedside table. Derek had already settled onto the pallet. “Isn’t this your bed?” Stiles asked. He laid his clothes down next to Derek’s on a chest at the end of the bed. 

“It was.” Derek kept his gaze trained on the ceiling.

“I could sleep on the floor.” 

“It’s fine.”

“You don’t need to give up your bed. I-”

“It’s fine,” Derek said, more forcefully. “Just go to sleep.”

Stiles sat down on the bed. He was tired, but he wasn’t sure what Derek would resent more, Stiles continuing to argue or Stiles invading his space. “I don’t want to intrude--”

“Stop talking, Stiles,” Derek said. He turned on his side away from Stiles, clearly finished with the conversation.

The new position pushed Derek's blanket down, and Stiles realized that he was shirtless. His eyes roamed over the expanse of skin and in the dim lighting, he saw a dark three-pronged spiral inked into the center of his back. He nearly swallowed his tongue, and his heartbeat kicked up in his chest.

Derek turn back around and scowled at him. “What's wrong?”

“Nothing,” Stiles squeaked. He pulled back the blankets and hurriedly got into bed. He put out the last lamp and turned on his own side so he couldn't see Derek. He stared into the darkness and curled his arms around himself, trying not to fidget.

After a moment, he heard Derek sigh and resettle for the night. Stiles willed himself to sleep, attempting to ignore the images of Derek’s smooth skin floating through his head. He fell asleep listening to Derek's deep, even breathing.

***

Scott gave him thread and a few needles the next morning. Stiles spent his time mending his clothes and anything of the pack’s he could find, preparing meals and cleaning the house. He found that he enjoyed the simple work. 

Stiles settled into life with the pack with surprising ease. He took great satisfaction in seeing his hard work reflected in neat stitches, shining surfaces and the pack happy and relaxed from a good meal. Furthermore, he found he was well suited to the pack mentality. Most of his life, he had felt isolated from those around him, only really close with his parents. After his mother’s death, with only his father left, he had tried to relate to his classmates. Unfortunately, Jackson was an absolute idiot, and Lydia, while brilliant, showed Stiles nothing but disdain, despite his attempts to win her favor. 

With a father grieving and preoccupied with the state of the kingdom and no close friends of his own, Stiles was well acquainted with the feeling of loneliness. By contrast, there was always someone nearby with the pack, dropping in for a quick word and a snack or gathering together for meals and company.

Each pack member had their own personality and Stiles loved learning them. He enjoyed Scott’s friendly overtures and Boyd’s calm silence. He liked the flirtatiousness of Erica and the solemn nature of Cora. Isaac had taken time to warm up to him, distrust ingrained in his personality, which made Stiles feel all the more triumphant when he was able to coax a smile or laugh from him with his antics. Even Peter, while he was so slimey, he practically oozed on occasion, he was vastly intelligent and Stiles was more than happy to debate and exchange barbs with him. 

Derek made him feel the most at ease. He was never one to mince words and he was quick to temper, but it was clear he adored his pack. Their safety and well-being was his highest priority. When the grief and homesickness caught up with Stiles, he would go to find Derek. Sometimes Stiles would chatter and prod, sometimes he’d just sit nearby, lost in thought. Derek always seemed to know when he needed solace and when he needed to be growled at to shake him from his mood. 

It took a few weeks, but Stiles finally stopped trying to convince Derek to take the bed back. Most times Derek would ignore him, but on one night, he had gotten so annoyed with Stiles’ nagging, he had stormed out of the room and not returned until morning.

Stiles had spent the whole night waiting for him to come back, worrying that Derek would get hurt and not return, or that when he did he would tell Stiles to leave. Stiles didn’t mention it after that. Neither did Derek, but he did carve him a stool for working in the kitchen, which Stiles took as an apology for scaring him, and a sign that he had a permanent place with them, even if Derek didn’t have the words to say so.

Constantly surrounded by werewolves, Stiles felt safe. He didn’t have much cause to stray far from the house. There was a cherry tree on a hill beside the house. Stiles liked sitting under the pink blossoms, as long as he had someone with him and though he didn’t ever linger very long. It was his favourite place outdoors, and at midsummer, the cherries were finally ripe enough to pick. He spent hours outside picking cherries, while Boyd sat nearby carving a shelf.

When he was finished, he washed the cherries and made two large pies as a treat for after dinner. He told the werewolves about how he’d once made made a cherry pie and given it to Lydia, saying it’s tart taste reminded him of her, and that she’d dumped the whole thing over his head. Most of the pack thought it was hilarious and the pie itself delicious, except Derek, who glared at the pie like it was a personal insult. 

“Did it mortally offend you?” Stiles asked. 

“I guess Derek doesn’t like cherries.” Scott explained.

“Does Derek like anything?” Stiles said flippantly

“…Apples.” Derek said quietly. “I like apple pie.”

Stiles hadn’t been expecting an actual response, but he was pleased to get one. “Duly noted.”

Isaac reached for Derek’s plate, “If you don’t want it-”

“I didn’t say I didn’t want it, cherry pie is fine. It’s good. I just...don’t understand why your Lydia wasted it by dumping it on your head.” Derek pulled his plate closer, guarding it from his pack.

“Well, she isn’t _my_ Lydia, which is probably the crux of the problem. If you're sure you like my pie, I could make you an apple one in the fall.” Derek nodded, somewhat hesitantly. Stiles tucked the half smile he had received into the back of his mind as the pack clamoured to suggest other pies he could make.

***

Kate sat in the jeweled throne in her hidden chambers, her long fingernails tapping against the arm as she waited for Harris to return from tutoring the castle’s youths. With Stiles gone and only Lord Martin’s daughter, Lord Whittemore’s son, and her own niece remaining, this took far less of his time than it had before. Martin’s girl was far smarter than Harris and they would have her left to her own devices but for the concern that the girl would grow suspicious of his absence.

Harris finally entered the room with his usual look of distaste. “Your highness--”

“The spell, you idiot,” Kate said, cutting off Harris’ deep bow. He moved to the worktable, collected the ingredients he had prepared earlier and with a short incantation, cast them into the fire in the hearth.

The flames flashed green and at first, Kate thought it would fail as it had every day since Stiles’ disappearance. This time, however, instead of flickering out, an image began to form. It shivered into being, showing the prince in a tree, picking cherries. At first, Kate focused on her target, watching the stupid boy smile and chatter to someone nearby as he collected the small fruits. 

“That could be anywhere,” Harris whined.

“No,” Kate said. “I know this place.” She took in the sweep of the hill, the pattern of the trees and the structure of the house behind the prince. She could clearly recognize it, even after years of change. After all, she had studied every nuance of it long before. Then tried to burned it to the ground with it's owners inside.

“He’s hidden by the beasts. That’s why we couldn’t see him, they must have added wards to the house,” she murmured, eyes fixed on the vision. “Easy enough to find, but eliminating him is another matter entirely.”

Kate began to pace around the room.

If she sent soldiers, there was a chance that Stiles could turn their loyalties to him as he had somehow done with her brother. No, this time she would see to his death herself, but how? The wards prevented a spell from being cast from so far. If she approached Stiles as she was, he would recognize her, and she didn’t know how much he knew regarding what had prompted Chris to take him into the woods in the first place.

Her eyes landed on bowl in the center of her table. It held fruit, long out of season, spelled to avoid rot. She looked back to the fire, the image of Stiles collecting his small prizes still played in the green-tinged flames.

Kate laughed as a plan began to form.

***

_Stiles ran through the woods, pursued by the glint of a knife and the sound of Kate's laughter ringing in his ears. His heart pounded, his lungs ached so much he could hardly breath. He felt the presence behind him coming closer until he tripped and-_

“Stiles!”

He came awake with a start, jolting away from the figure above him. “Stiles, it’s alright, you're safe.” Once Stiles realized the shadow was Derek he flung himself at him. Derek caught him easily and held on while Stiles pressed his face into the crook of Derek's neck and tried to catch his breath. Derek murmured softly in his ear. The words were lost on him, but he found the tone soothing.

Gradually, he calmed down. He was still shivering and he soon realized that he was wrapped in a half naked Derek. He felt Derek begin to pull away and he let go. “You alright?” Derek asked.

Stiles nodded and Derek stood, presumably to return to his pallet. “Derek,” Stiles said quietly, grabbing his wrist. Derek stopped and looked down at him, his usually stony expression softened with concern. He brushed a hand tenderly over Stiles’ cheek and neck, just like he did to his wolves when he wanted to offer them comfort. Stiles stared up at him for a moment before he asked softly, “Stay with me?”

At first, Derek went still as stone, then he moved toward Stiles, laying down on top of the blanket and wrapping himself around him. Stiles drifted off again counting the rhythm of Derek’s heartbeat.

***

“You're sure you’ll be alright?” Derek asked for the third time that evening.

“I’ll be fine,” Stiles said, clearing away the dishes from their large dinner. “I was fine during the last full moon, and the one before that, and the one before that, and I will be fine for this one too. Take your pack and enjoy your frolicking. I’ll be here with dessert when you come back.” 

Derek frowned at him, but the expression lacked the hard edge it had held when Stiles had first arrived. “You should get some rest, we won't be back til well after midnight.”

He gave Derek a reassuring smile as he felt a broad hand run across his shoulders. He wasn’t sure if Derek scent-marked him for his own benefit, the pack’s or for Stiles’. He didn’t much care ,because he wanted it to continue either way. 

“We’ll be close by. If you need us, just call.” Derek said.

“I will,” Stiles promised. 

The pack gathered in front of the house, each bidding goodbye to Stiles with a quick, friendly rub of skin against skin, before they gathered together and shifted as they ran into the woods.

Stiles lingered for a moment in the night air before returning to the kitchen. He was about to start on the dessert he’d planned when he heard a voice behind him.

“Hello, dearie.”

Stiles dropped the pan he was holding and spun toward the open window, heart pounding in his chest. The voice belonged to an old woman, who was wrinkled, warty and bent with age.

“Oh my. I didn’t mean to startle you, dear,” the old woman said. “I only came to make a trade.” The woman hefted a large wooden bucket and placed it on the sill. It was filled with shiny red apples.

“Oh,” said Stiles, hand still clutching his chest. It had been months since he’d seen anyone outside the pack. The werewolves took turns visiting the nearby village to purchase any needed supplies and Stiles never went with them. There was, after all, a queen trying to kill him, so he wasn’t too keen on talking to strangers. For example, the woman at his window. “The master of this house isn’t in right now. Perhaps another time.”

“Oh, but dearie, I’m very old and your house is so far from the village. A bright young boy like you, can’t you speak for him? You must be wasting away here, if all you’re used for is cooking and cleaning,” the old woman said, dismissively.

Stiles shrugged, “You use what you have to get what you need.” He didn’t want to talk to the woman about how much he enjoyed caring for his pack or what lengths he was willing to go to in order to stay in their safe home.

“Just so, my dear. Apples like these are hard to find. Surely, you have something worth the trade.” The woman pushed the bucket of fruit closer with a gnarled hand. 

Stiles eyes roamed over the bright red fruit. They did look good, and it was early in the season to be able to find them.

“Here,” the woman said. “I’ll even let you try a bite.” She held a plump apple out for Stiles to try.

He hesitated, but the apples were tempting. If they were ripe enough, he could make a pie for Derek. He thought of how happy his Alpha would be to come home from their moon run to his favorite pie. Besides, what harm could an old woman really do if he didn’t even let her inside?

He took the apple gingerly and inspected it for rot and blemishes. The old woman watched eagerly as he took a bite.

The tart flavour of the apple burst in his mouth, sweeter than he expected. The juice quickly filled every recess and slid down his throat. He tried to swallow the bite he’d taken, but couldn't force it down, and he coughed when it seemed to grow larger in his throat. The inside of his mouth started to feel prickly, then numb and he realized that it wasn't just his clumsiness making him choke.

Stiles was unable to breath from panic and fruit lodged in his airway. He backed away from the window and hit the counter, knocking down all the dishes he had left to wash from dinner. The stoneware crashed to the ground, shattering at his feet. He fell to his knees surrounded by the shards and looked back to the window as his vision began to blur. 

In the old woman’s place stood Kate, cackling as he gasped for air. 

In the distance, he heard a roar, howls joining it soon after. His pack must have heard the crash. Kate’s head whipped around to look in the direction of the calls, then she looked back at Stiles, hesitating a moment before taking off, back where she’d come from.

Stiles laid down on the kitchen floor, trying to stay conscious as he listened to his pack approach.

His vision went black as a second roar was loosed into the night.

***

King John led his search party through the forest, listening as the soldiers around him called periodically for the queen. To his right rode Kate’s niece, Lady Allison, worry etched in her young face. Beside her Lady Lydia reassured her in her own  
briskly efficient fashion. 

In truth, John really wasn’t very fond of Kate. He had regretted marrying her almost immediately. But he knew first hand the grief of a loved one suddenly disappearing and he did not want young Lady Allison to feel that sorrow. It was his duty as ruler of the kingdom to attempt to find the answers. 

He sent a quick prayer of thanks that he returned home last night, instead of the following week, as planned. If his wife, such as she was, had gone missing while he was gone, just like his son, he wasn’t sure he could live with himself.

“Your Majesty, I think we’ve found something,” Sir Parrish called out. He had returned from where the rest of the soldiers were just out of view. John steered his horse quickly toward him, dismounting as he reached the group of men standing huddled together.

His men were gathered around Kate’s lifeless form. Her body had been torn into, and her blood had seeped into the forest floor. Her throat looked as if it had all but been torn out.

“Animals, perhaps,” John said, regretfully. The blood was no longer fresh, and John assumed she had been killed sometime during the night. “Send word to the castle, have her brought home for burial.” He returned to his horse and remounted, maneuvering the animal back toward home.

“Your Majesty,” Lady Lydia said, guiding her horse next to his. John had quite forgotten about the young women. He hoped they had not seen too much of the carnage. Allison looked to have stayed well back, but Lydia was following him from Kate’s resting place.

“Yes, Lydia?”.

“We are in the northern part of the forest, are we not?”

“Yes, I believe so.” John was well aware of how intelligent Lydia was from the amount of times Stiles had discussed her, and he was certain that Lydia knew exactly where they were.

“Is this not werewolf territory, Majesty? Perhaps we should pay them a visit. See if they know anything regarding recent animal attacks.” Lydia’s sharp gaze was a direct contradiction to her bored tone.

The Hale family had protected these woods for generations. If anyone knew what had happened to Kate, it was them. “Very well,” the King said. He called for a few of his most trusted men and turned his horse once more, this time toward the Hale homestead.

Within a quarter of an hour, they arrived and were greeted by a number of low growls. The King’s men held their weapons at the ready as three werewolves came out of the house. Two young men, one tall and curly haired, the other dark haired and tan, flanked an older werewolf. 

“Why, your Majesty, to what do we owe the pleasure of your visit?” asked the werewolf.

“Peter, is it not?” John asked. At Peter’s nod, he continued. “I have some things to discuss with your alpha.” 

The younger werewolves growled, eyes flashing. Peter paid them no attention, focusing on the king as he responded. “Unfortunately, our alpha is somewhat indisposed at the moment. But we will do our very best to see you get what you need.”

John had not expected the werewolves to deny his request. He had always had an amicable, if distant relationship with the Hale pack. What had happened to foster their distrust? “Do you know what lead to the Queen’s death?”

Peter’s bland expression didn’t no much as flicker as the growls of his pack members escalated. “Heinous murder,” he replied.

“She was murdered?” Allison asked, the werewolves ceased their growling as they turned their attention to her. The dark haired boy looked positively shocked by her presence.

“Oh, I didn’t mean her’s,” said Peter. “Someone of much more worth, I’m afraid.”

The statement was vague. John knew that he could be talking about anyone in the kingdom, but his heart lurched nonetheless, and he asked in a velvet steel voice, “Hale, do you know what became of my son?”

Peter tilted his head consideringly. John wasn’t sure what Peter saw, but it must have been what he was looking for. “Perhaps you had better join us inside.” He turned and reentered the house, the two other werewolves close behind. Lydia and Allison followed him quickly. He turned to tell them to stay behind, but thought the better of it when he saw their resolve. 

The humans followed the trio through the house down two long hallways, before stopping at a door, guarded by two more wolves. Peter tapped on the door before opening it and stepping inside. “Derek, the king is here.”

John heard no response as he entered the room. He took in as many details as he could before his attention was riveted to the bed. 

He gasped when he saw his son. After months of hoping, his boy was finally in front of him, but he was pale, even for his light skin, and completely motionless, cradled against the chest of a large dark-haired werewolf. “My son-, Oh god, my son is dead.” He whispered.

“He’s not dead,” said the werewolf, as he ran his hand over face of the lifeless form. “I can hear his heartbeat.”

“Derek, it’s too soft, you’re the only one who can hear it,” said a girl in the corner. She was the image of Talia, standing stoically as the other werewolves gathered around her, looking mournfully at their alpha.

John approached the bed and took his son's hand. It was cold to the touch. “It’s too late, then.”

“I don’t think so,” said Lydia. John had once more forgotten she was even there, but she stood in the center of the room, assessing Stiles with her sharp gaze. “Do you know what happened?” She asked.

“We found him on the ground with a bitten apple. We believe it was poisoned, but we can’t identify it by smell.” Peter explained. “Had we known he still lived, we might have interrogated Kate, but that ship had sailed.”

John reeled at the casual mention that these people had killed the Queen for murdering his son.

“Yes, poison seems most likely. Should be easy enough to fix,” said Lydia. The occupants of the room looked at her in confusion. “It looks to be a simple Falsus Mortum Spell. It causes a state of false death, until the victim either wastes away and really dies, or the spell is broken.”

“Do you know how to break it, then?” asked John. He knew little of magic and squashed down the hope in his chest.

“A kiss of true love should take care of it.” Lydia explained, matter of factly.

“You can fix him, then, can’t you?” John said. Stiles had extolled Lydia’s virtues to anyone who would listen since he was little boy.

“Yeah,” said one of the werewolves. He looked like a hopeful, lopsided puppy. “You’re Lydia, aren’t you? Stiles thinks you’re glorious.”

Lydia tsked. “Not me, you idiots.” John followed her pointed glare to the alpha werewolf still cradling his son.

“Oh,” said Derek. He looked down at Stiles pale face. “You think...”

“Please,” John said. “Please try.”

Derek moved Stiles in his arms, hesitating a moment longer before gently bringing their mouths together. He kissed Stiles softly, with reverence, their lips catching as if loath to part when he drew back to study his face. The whole room barely breathed with anticipation.

After a moment that felt like a hundred years, Stiles opened his eyes and looked at Derek. He pulled him down and kissed him hard before he said, “I swear to god, I’m gonna bake you an apple pie if it's the last thing I do.”

Most of the werewolves started laughing, a bit hysterical. Allison and Lydia looked confused, while John sagged in relief.

Derek pulled Stiles crushingly close and growled, “I’m not so sure I’m big on apples anymore.” Stiles wiggled in his grasp until he could kiss Derek again, the embrace growing more heated until John cleared his throat.

“Oh, hey, dad,” Stiles said, glancing over. He did a double take when he realized who he’d spoken to. “Dad! You’re here, I missed you so much.” Stiles hurried to throw his arms around his father, nearly bashing Derek in the face with his elbow on the way.

“Missed you too, son.” John murmured.

“So, I kind of joined a werewolf pack.” Stiles said.

“I can see that.” John said with fond exasperation.

“I like them a lot.” Stiles continued. 

“I can see that too,” the King raised an eyebrow at Derek.

Stiles looked between his father and his true love. “I don’t really know how being in a pack and being the crown prince of a kingdom really work together.”

John sighed softly, “If anyone can manage it, I’m sure it’s you.” He averted his eyes as his son went back to kissing Derek while the pack rambunctiously cheered around them.

**Author's Note:**

> And they all lived happily ever after. Except Kate. Because fuck her.
> 
> Canonical Character Death: Refers to Claudia, and Kate.  
> Cannibalism: Kate eats a heart that she thinks is Stiles’, but it was actually a deer heart.  
> Ableist Language: Period typical language explaining that Erica had epilepsy.


End file.
